A Path to Darkness
by Alachai
Summary: After IMTDThe brothers have just recovered from their hospital stay, and when everything seems to be going right, Sam takes a drastic turn for the worse as he rebels against his father’s wishes.
1. Chapter 1

**The all around, usual disclaimer:** I do not own the Supernatural or the Winchesters; however – I do own an OC that will be popping up shortly.

**Author's Note:** First of all, my POTC crossover is put on hold until I get over this writer's block! This story, thank God, is complete and the sequel soon will be too. And as for this story, it is basically a long, five chapter prequel opening events (mainly in the last chapter) to the next one. I hope you do enjoy!

-Andrea

**Beta'd by:** the patient, wonderful Rae Artemis.

* * *

A Path to Darkness

Chapter 1

The house's wooden floors, reeking with age, made way for two of its newest temporary-owners. The third owner was missing in action, not that this surprised them.

"He should be here by now Dad," For all the twenty six years of his rather short life, he'd been repeating the same sentence over and over again for, at least, twenty two of them.

"He's a grown man, Dean," John Winchester, looking much younger than fifty-three, but wise enough, responded critically as he laid down a large duffle bag. "Just because he has your car doesn't mean he decided to skip the country and elope with it."

"Yeah, well," Dean gently placed down the second, overly heavy duffle bag on the bare granite counter top. "Guess she wouldn't be that good in bed."

"Dean," John looked at his oldest boy agitated. "I don't like your tone, is this a new bad habit of yours?"

"Ok, Dad," The hazel-green eyed adult huffed and shook his head. "But he's been at the grocery store for three damned hours and I think it takes less time for a grandma to shop."

"It's been an hour and a half," The father replied, checking his watch; something that normal fathers were supposed to do. "Precisely"

"So? I was close," Dean slung back and then glanced around the extremely empty house. "And Sam's supposed to be the excited one. After all, don't you remember him yelping about moving into a _real_ home?"

"It's a hunt, Dean," John replied easily, kneeling down to un-zip his ammo-filled duffle bag. "We all understand that. You boys aren't kids anymore."

"Well," Dean looked around the granite-topped countered kitchen which was open into the lounging room that led to a hall way that carried three separate bedrooms, and two bathrooms. This house was, in fact, if they could snag the right amount of furniture, ideal.

The Winchesters owed all their thanks and gratitude towards their father's friend, James. Yet another hunting 'buddy' that Sam and Dean had just heard about. James had called John to alert him of something the boys couldn't and wouldn't learn about. But, alas to what John said, Sam and Dean followed their father to the heart of Georgia, thinking that they were on the trail of the demon. The demon that John had secretively beckoned at the hospital but had no luck.

"We only have the beds to sleep on, a working fridge, stove and running water," John continued as he began to lift pure salt bags out of his duffle. "Your brother should be buying the sheets and towels."

"You forgot to mention the running air," Dean interrupted, his upper-body faking a shiver. "It _certainly_ is working."

"Compared to that last motel," John smirked at the memory. "_Anything_ is freezing."

"So," Dean started up again as he pulled out a gun and the correct form of cleaning supplies. "How'd you bargain James to give us his rental for a week?"

"James," John's words grew hoarsely as he went on. "Was your mother's cousin. He was _more_ than happy to do anything he could for us."

"Oh," In a hushed tone, the younger man quickly tossed a dirt covered rag into their current make-shift _Seven-Eleven_ trash bag. "How long's he known about the hunt?"

"Long before I did," John confirmed as he began to sprinkle salt around the edges of the walls.

* * *

"I'm back," At the all too cheerful tone, Dean and John glanced up to see Sam coming in the front door of their house, precisely four hours later.

"Enjoy your trip to the mall, Daisy?" Dean demanded as he pushed himself up from his seated position on the floor.

"For your information," Sam retaliated as he placed plastic grocery bags on the counter. "Shopping is hell."

"So I thought," John, secretly smiling to himself, also proceeded to climb up and off of the floor. "I hope you got some cheap lawn chairs, because I'd rather be having conversations sitting in my car."

"Managed to slide three of them in the back of the Impala," Opening a lower cabinet, Sam began unloading a bag full of boxes of purified salt.

"Three for ten at Publix."

"And I take it that they _are not _digging into the cushions, creating unnecessary dents?" Dean, looking up once again at Sam from rummaging through a bag of potato chips, and other 'healthy' stuff demanded.

"No Dean," Sam snapped, looking back and fourth between his brother and his father – _both men shorter than him_. "Your car is safe."

''You're sure?" Dean stared at his brother intently, Sam ignored him.

"Sam," Delaying his sons' banter, John slowly walked over to the kitchen area. "What took you so long?"

"People," Heaving an exaggerated breath, Sam frowned. "The people in this town aren't used to getting new comers," John was now tapping his heavily booted-foot causing Sam to sarcastically go on. "Apparently _your_ friend didn't mention _that_ to you."

"James is coming here tomorrow," Firmly, John began to pace over to the opposite side of the room. "And I want the two of you to _not_ be here."'

"Why's that?" Dean, yet again pushed on his demanding tone.

"Because," John stopped long enough to give his younger son a regretful glare. "That man was like a brother to your mom. And not so long ago, when you boys were little, he was fighting for your custody."

"Come again?" Sam, taken off guard, glared at his father.

"He was mom's cousin," Dean cut in, not daring to let things heat up before he watched his brother and father get into yet another argument; _too little, too late it was never going to happen._

"Then why the hell don't I remember him?" Intercepting his brother, Sam locked another heavy glare with his father.

"He's a damn good hunter," Calm was not the tone Sam wanted to hear right now, but with his jaw clenching, he slowly received it from John. "And was a good friend."

"But?" _No_, he wouldn't wait.

"But he can sometimes be a dangerous man."

"We can defend ourselves," Stubbornly, Sam pushed his arms across his chest.

"Not in that way," John was speaking more calmly every time.

"Then Dad," Dean interrupted. "Why are we here? What thing that's supernatural is going around this time?"


	2. Chapter 2

A Path to Darkness

Chapter 2

The dew was sprinkled lightly, fresh on the ground; the three chairs, lawn, green, and plastic, sat stubbornly in the middle of the open family room's floor surrounding a folding table. The smell of freshly mowed grass breezed in and circulated the house along with the chilling air conditioners humming in the background. A large, stone fireplace plastered itself up against a wooden wall. Paintings of random flowers clung helplessly onto the walls. Purified salt, the only slight deformation in the room next to a blinking alarm clock reading six o' five AM, was sprinkled in clumps around the walls, doors and windows. Bunnies could even be seen outside munching on the grass; _if _Cinderella dared to sing joyfully _it_ would be the definite expected time and place.

Sam sniffed. "It oughta be illegal."

Sniffing again, he moved over to the kitchen area, watching as the coffee maker swarmed to life, and black drips began sliding their way into the pot. Every other breeze sent his head spinning; sure that he could smell the neighbors' real life Christmas pines from all the way next door. And, much to his conformation, at night, he could imagine the smells of fireplaces and faint snow on the ground also breeze by in the house. _Everything_ was perfect.

He could imagine having Jess there, his mom being there with John, Dean having a steady girlfriend – and _everything_ would be perfect. He was at home, he was in peace; he was at _home_.

_Home. _

_Home. _

Even the pure rhythm of that word lifted him high into his Vertigo-state. It was lethal. It was _illegal_. It was not how his life should feel. _There was always calmness before the storm_.

But last night, with the argument, and their prodding, neither Sam nor Dean found out what the upcoming hunt would be. 'And what the hell did James have to do with it? How could someone that had been in their lives for supposedly so long, come into view just now?'

"I smell coffee," Turning around from the coffee maker, Dean came into view, boxer clad and bare chested. "And _I see_ the need for you to put clothes on," Decked out in blue jeans ripped due to a very active poltergeist, and a red hooded-sweater, the dark headed brother commented wryly.

"Hey," Dean, giving his brother his one and only 'evil-gaze' glided over to the coffee pot and drew in a long sniff. "I _never_ wake up this early voluntarily."

"Well, bonus points for you," Sam shot back sarcastically. "Is dad awake yet?"

"Nah," Shuffling through a plastic bag, Dean pulled out his desired object of Styrofoam cups. "He didn't get to bed up until around three. 'Think he was talking to Jim."

"Pastor Jim's dead, Dean," Sam replied hoarsely. "You mean James."

"Yeah, sure," Pouring the coffee impatiently into two cups, Dean nodded his head a bit too coolly. "That guy."

"What do you think the real story behind this 'James' is? I mean, have you ever heard of him before?" On his pondering, morning-person spree, Sam thoughtlessly picked up an empty Styrofoam cup and attempted to drink out of it.

"Not before last night," Dean let out a yawn and then frowned. "Did you buy this coffee maker?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because…" Sam bit his lower lip in frustration as he concentrated on pouring himself a real cup of coffee. "I just thought since we have a house – it was the right thing to do."

The older brother cracked a tired grin. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"No," Ears and neck growing a deep shade of pink, Sam shook his head, not able to delay his grin. "I mean sort-of."

Dean let out a light laugh. "It's nice to see ya enjoying things, little brother."

"Thanks," Stealing a smile once again, Sam and Dean together gulped down the rest of their coffee.

* * *

"Sam, Dean," The blinking alarm clock now read quarter-past nine and this go round, Daddy Winchester was very much awake. "I think it's time for the two of you to do a little browsing around the town." 

"You mean," Sam glanced shortly at his father, shooting him a critical gaze before proceeding. "Get lost so you can talk to James."

"_Sam_," It was undeniably his warning tone; so many attempts to so little use; but for the balancing affect, Dean now had jeans and a shirt on.

"Boys," Apparently, John had this acting-calm BS down a hundred and fifty percent. "I just don't think you should be here when he comes."

"So?" Sam wasn't paying attention to his brother's warning glances anymore; not until he found out. "The man fought for Dean and me when we were younger. You're the one who said he's your friend; then if he is, explain to us why the man's so goddamn dangerous."

"_Was_," John responded tightly. "He _was_ my friend," Looking back and fourth between his two creations, he saw it was most _definitely_ not enough. "And there are some things I need to keep from you. It's for your own good."

"For our own good," Sam tossed back, his new cup of freshly made coffee trembling in his twice-broken hand. "What the _hell_ is your problem dad?"

"Samuel Winchester," It was his harshest, top-ranking military commander tone, and it hadn't been the first time he had used it on his youngest boy. "If you ever take that tone of voice with me-"

"What?" Sam stood up, sending the cheap lawn chair flying across the room. "You're gonna throw me off this hunt?"

"I can't do that Sam," John had his all-time-grim expression on. "But I can…" John interrupted himself by crunching the empty Styrofoam cup in the palm of his hand. "Suggest you go right now before I go."

"Well if that's the way you want it, dad," Sam looked towards his sitting brother and then made a scowl at his father. "How long do you want us to drive around this crappy town?"

* * *

**A/N:**Sorry the update took so long. Depending on my beta's schedule, the updates will be about **every other** Saturday. Thank you for your patience. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year to everyone. 


	3. Chapter 3

A Path to Darkness

Chapter 3

"We're in Hicksville, Dean," It was true; all too true, and it also, in the past hour, had been said more over than fifty times from the person in the passenger seat. "We don't even know what the hunt is, but we're mulling around Hicksville."

"I know that, Sammy," He was annoyed or, to be honest, pissed off. He was fed up with both his father, and to his mind-heart protest, his brother.

"Maybe we should go check out the library," Sam confirmed, shifting in his seat to view a middle-aged lady dressed in overalls and a straw hat, walking down the sidewalk with an empty wheel-barrow. "Or a bar."

"And search for what at the library?" Dean smirked and gazed at an old man on the opposite sidewalk carrying a bail of hey on his shoulder. "Another scarecrow incident? The many mysteries of Howdy-Dudy and the Dukes of Hazard meet full force with John Wayne and his pack of yakking coyotes? Or Green Acres and Beverly Hillbillies here-we-come?"

"What do you thinks wrong with the relationship between dad and James?" It was a change of subject; but not a surprised one.

"I think, Sam," Dean's lower lip produced that all-too reoccurring frown. "That it started when mom was alive."

"Why do you think that?" Long legs scrambled in an uncomfortable position bending into the side of the dashboard; Sam turned his long body to face his brother. "Dad told you, didn't he?" Sam's face twitched with anger. "Dad tells you everything."

"No, Sam," Dean's annoyed tone was showing off, his system running low on coffee-fuel. "Dad didn't tell me anything; it was just a guess I made."

"A guess, Dean?" The youngest Winchester scoffed at the last statement. "Last time I checked, in this business, guesses are the forbidden fruit. You should know that, you're your father's son."

"Well, Sammy, so are you. And you're doing a piss-poor job of taking care of that position," People were aloud to make mistakes; people had to be aloud to make mistakes, and every day they made guesses. Sam, four years ago running away to college had made one hell of a mistake, and one heck of a big guess. A guess that he could succeed and do well; a guess that he could live on his own; _without_ the supernatural.

"I'm sick of it, Dean," Sam shook his head and focused his gaze out the window. "I'm purely sick of it."

"Sick of me Sam? Because you _can't_ be sick of me. I'm your brother, and I try. I try a whole hell of a lot harder than you. And sick of dad? I've noticed, but you've got to live with it. And it was your choice to go to college, Sammy. It was your choice to come with us hunting. So what are you sick of Sam? Everything. Every decision was made by you. Not when we were younger, but now it is. You ran away. You came back and now dad, as always has his orders, so you better either stick with them, kill this demon and survive, or you can run away again."

It was a breath taken; a breath that drastically needed to be taken. The Impala was now parallel parked across the street from Mo's Diner and Bar, Dean was fuming in the car. Sam's eyes, Dean saw, were large. They were, in fact, the largest he had ever seen on his younger brother, their deep-blue shade was its lowest grey. Rants were harsh; and once in a blue moon, Dean just had to let loose. "Sorry little brother."

"I'm sick of the lies, Dean," Sam gulped with his quivering voice, and despite himself continued. "I try to tell you everything. I try to tell dad everything. But what I get back from dad and sometimes you are just pure lies," _God, Sammy could be so calm_… "And I wanna know everything. I want to know about James."

It was that look Sammy used to give him when Sam was still in the depths of youth and Dean was hitting puberty. That look with the big, blue round eyes, trembling lips, and hopeful facial expression. And that look irritated the crap out of Dean; the affect of ripping his heart out was just a little too much.

Sam had bluish-green eyes with black dots in the middle. They were like their mom's eyes. Dean had a memory rush every time he received 'the look' from Sam. _His mom reading him a bed time story_…

_No_…

"I'm sorry Sam," Dean murmured quietly. "How 'bout a beer?" It was the least he could offer, after all the bar was right across the street.

* * *

"I see the three of you are making yourselves at home," It was a poor accusation, and John Winchester was seething every minute, _every second_ of seeing the person seating in front of him. On the cheap-green-lawn chair.

"Not the coziest home I've ever been in," His tone produced pure irritation; pure hatred, and John couldn't quite find the reason for that strong word 'hate' but the word seemed to fit. Fit nicely.

"Where are your boys?" His tone was gruff. The gruff tone belonging to the cousin of Mary Winchester. The man had the edge of a great pioneer, a hunter with the grey beard, mustache, and hair as witnesses. He had Mary's blue eyes; Sam's blue eyes, but then again, they were filled with pure…Something that was hard to explain; but John chose the word _evil_.

"No where near where you're ever going to be," John leveled back. God, he _hated_ this man. So help him if he didn't have to find the demon himself, and live for his sons, he'd _enjoy_ shooting this man so many times and then slamming him with a jack-hammer.

"That's nice, John," James let a sly smile edge across his full, masculine lips, his eyes gleaming; John predicted to see black or yellow, but no; there was no reason to kill this son of a bitch. "You know how much I miss my nephews."

"You haven't seen them since _that night_. And they _never_ saw you. There is no way in _your_ dreams they'll ever see you again."

"You can't protect your boys from me John," The man snickered and watched as his cousin-in-law proceeded to pace the wooden, creaking floor. "They're old enough to make their own decisions now."

"If you think," John paused long enough to take a seething breath. "That my sons are going to bow down and crown you the one now, you're _dead_ wrong."

"Easy there, Johnny boy," The grey haired man let out, causing John to flinch. "I'm not the demon," This was causing John to fume more and more, and James was getting a kick out of it. "Oh, by the way, are you having any luck with that?"

"What the hell do you want from me?" John's face was red, and now, he was gripping his enemy's shoulders, and getting ready to pull a punch.

"Careful, John," _He just sat there so calmly_. "I could get you for assault."

"Assault?" John heaved in a breath and tore away from the man. "Assault is what you did to Mary, right before _my_ youngest son was born."

"Don't go kicking off to foreign punches John," James, placing his calloused hands on John's shoulders, sprang gracefully out of the chair as his enemy grunted in disbelief. "What makes you so sure that he's yours? He is the _special_ child after all."


	4. Chapter 4

A Path to Darkness

Chapter 4

The man, the only other being near the planet that he could possibly hate more than the Demon, had left. In fact, he had left him hours ago. And now, the unbearable sounds of his older boy pacing the creaking wooden floor persisted and rang in his ears like a loud gun shot, a bomb exploding, or Dean's constant way of blasting his rock music so loud that it could be heard all the way, two miles up ahead, in his truck. This was making John Winchester fret, and John Winchester was a man always quick to move; never fret. The ringing in his ears could very well be a sign that someone was talking about him; a close relative. And the fact that Dean was muttering sweet nothings to himself and himself alone, held a promise that it was probably his younger boy. Sammy, once again wasn't there; and Dean hadn't bothered to say a word about him.

"What happened to your brother?" _There_, that was a start.

Dean's words were slurred as he looked, a touch of relief in his eyes, at his father. "He asked me if it would be ok to drive after we went to a bar, because, I for one," Dean paused long enough to gesture widely at himself. "Had too many beers. So I let him drive me back here. And when I got out of the car," John watched, biting his lower lip, as his son took a seat in one of the two available lawn chairs. "Sam said he'd be right in, but then after I took five steps, he zoomed away."

_Oh, shit._

The only thoughts crossing John's mind were that James' information was in the glove compartment in the Impala, where all of their fake ideas were.

Sammy was evidently mad at him over the 'James' incident, and had every damn reason to be; but he _would not_ let his son go near that man, ever.

"Dean," John slowly stood up, denying the fact that with his age came the beginnings of arthritis. "We've got to go, _now_."

"Dad," Dean murmured, looking up at his father. "Sammy's just a little pissed; ease off, let him vent."

"I can't Dean," The father's voice was raspy and filled with worry now. "Because if your brother goes where I think he's going, he's not going to make it out alive."

"If he's going to James," Even drunk, his boy caught on quickly; _too_ quickly. "Why would our _uncle_ kill him?"

"Because, Dean," John started heading for the door, keys to the black truck making jingling noises in his back pocket. "That man did something to your mother that I can't bare to explain. And he threatened to do _that_ to you and your brother. If James did _that_, I couldn't live with myself," _And if that wasn't enough_… "Screw finding that Demon, all that matters to me now is the two of you boys."

'Kill' was an evident word with much meaning; the Winchesters did it nearly every day to demons and pissed off spirits. But the fact that the word and Sammy were in the same sentence; led Dean to follow his father with zombie passion.

"Fine, dad," Dean said closing the door behind him, watching the nightfall of snowflakes flow to the ground. "Let's go get Sammy."

* * *

The darkness came upon him like a bat out of hell; full force and quick in action. Tapping his foot lightly on the break petal to slow down, Sam looked towards the piece of paper in the Impala's passenger seat. The writing on it was visibly sloppy, as if done in a quick hurry; there was no denying it belonged to his father.

"Gotta go left," Dean wasn't there to be his back seat driver, and Sam felt carrying on with his own rambles would balance the affect out. "_Left_," Sam squinted as he talked to himself, staring at the paper instead of keeping his eyes on the road. The Impala turned where its driver wanted it to, not comprehending or caring to which Winchester was at its wheel.

"Why are you talking to yourself, Sam?" And to carry on conversations with himself was irregular; it _never_ happened. His brother was always there. But no, it was a piece of paper in Dean's place. Sam had given himself his own man-made order; not a creation of John's, but _his_. And he would go against his father's will. His father's will was for him to never set foot near James. A man, who _didn't_, as far as Sam knew, have a last name.

Looking up to see Georgia's early morning road paved with ice, Sam willed himself to have a headache; have another vision. He needed a mission; he had a mission, but he wanted to protect a person doing it. He wasn't himself; and with every thought zooming through his mind Sam wished more and more that the road would come to a dead end, hopefully a house. James' rental house. He could be home again.

* * *

"Hello?" This time, John's cell phone was on; and Dean shifted in the passenger seat of his father's truck to watch and observe the conversation more closely. It had been another four hours, four hours of constant searching.

"Yes," If it was Sam, John would be saying a whole hell of a lot more then two words in two minutes; and as Dean observed, his father's voice filled with more and more worry.

"Uh-huh," John swallowed hard; his eyes once peeled to the road were now locked with Dean's. "What room? We'll be right there."

John hung up the phone, not paying attention to any other duty or distraction except that.

"What's wrong, dad?" Dean watched as John's lips formed into his scared/determined look. _A mission_.

"Sammy," John paused, his worried eyes still locked with his oldest boy's. "Sammy's in the hospital."

Dean coughed. "Come again?"

"They say he was in an accident, Dean," John turned to face the road, his foot leaning on the gas petal a little harder. "And is in critical condition."

**

* * *

**

_**A/N:**_ To my constant readers, thank you for reading! There is only one more chapter left, and then the sequel should be up in the next month or so.


	5. Chapter 5

A Path to Darkness

Chapter 5

_Two weeks later. Prologue to: Walking Just to Stumble._

"Maybe we can get you one of those tricked-out-dogs or something," Every day for thirteen days, Dean's voice persisted as hoarse, and tears denied themselves to not show up in his eyes.

"Dean-" The voice of Sam was hesitant and weak; Dean noted the heart monitor's beeping was louder then Sam. "I don't need a dog."

"Well, I guess not," Dean looked down upon his younger brother whom was sprawled out aimlessly across a hospital bed. He was hooked up every which way but right; yet was dressed to go home; or back to James' house.

James for one had disappeared, which angered John to the ends of the earth; if he wasn't already.

"You have me," Dean cracked a grin, and Sam grinned too. The strong brother's voice tried to sound humorous, and Sam's reflexes replied. "But hey-" Dean's grin dissipated to his continuous grim expression. "We can get you some awesome sunglasses now."

"I guess," Sam's parched voice choked out as he willed himself to smile again. "I am kind of the white-version of Ray Charles."

"Heck, yeah!" Dean needed to stay up-beat for his brother; John was sewn into his own, private and warm shell. John was now deep in depression; John was at home.

"Does it hurt, Sammy?" The attempted up-beat voice now grew into a somber tone as he looked into Sam's lifeless blue eyes. They were glazed over as if sheets of ice had been draped across them. Around his eyes the skin was red and burned, his cheeks were scratched colorful-but his eyes, lifeless.

"It used to, Dean," Sam's mouth moved around until he bit his lower lip.

Dean frowned as a tear snaked its way down his cheek.

_Sam's blind. _

_Sammy's blind._

_His little brother was now blind_.

_And it was all due to some methanol gas_… No, he never did figure out how his little brother's fate came to pass. _And Sammy didn't remember_.

"But with enough pain killers-"

"The pain goes away," Dean interrupted, nodding his head slowly. Two mysteries now projected his path; the first one was to figure out the 'mystery' of James; the second was to make his little brother better. Un-blind. Surely, it could be done.

"You're gonna get through this, kiddo," His voice was soothing, and Sam's glazed eyes blinked. Blind people _could_ cry; Sammy just was rebellious over feeling sorry for himself.

"I know, Dean," Every time he dared to swallow it grew harder and harder. "I have you to get me through this-" Sam paused to let out a sigh. "I just need dad."

* * *

**_A/N:_** Once again, a gracious thanks to my beta, Rae Artemis! There is a sequel coming up soon, but first I'm stalling on the last few chapters, and then it must be beta'd; so in the next two months it should come up. If you'd like, add me to your _author alert list_ to see Sam deal with this condition. ;)

-Andrea


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